


picking up the puzzle pieces

by KayleeAnnJones



Series: and sealing them together with glue [1]
Category: Saw (Movies), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: :), All Might feels bad, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dabi and Todoroki Shouto Are Siblings, Dabi is a Todoroki, Dabi is izuku's follower instead of stain's, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Electrocution, Engineering, Evil Midoriya Izuku, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I promise, Izuku is the Jigsaw killer from the Saw franchise, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mineta Minoru Dies, Minor Character Death, Morally Grey Midoriya Izuku, Murder, Mystery, Poison, Psychological Torture, Saw Traps, Shouto and Izuku are psychopaths together, Slow Burn, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Torture, Villain Midoriya Izuku, Villain Todoroki Shouto, Violence, a random OC but the attempted noncon is still there, according to the saw franchise at least, but it happens, except with different ideals, it's not Izuku, read the tags, this romance is really slow guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeAnnJones/pseuds/KayleeAnnJones
Summary: "Why?" Todoroki questioned, a fierce look on his face. "Why kill all these people? What's the point?""I don't kill them, Todoroki-kun," Izuku replied, smiling coldly. Shivers run down Todoroki's spine. "I talk to them; give them instructions, the tools they need to survive, and then they kill themselves."Todoroki shuddered, looking outright disturbed."...And my other question?""Some heroes just don't deserve their titles."--or, when Izuku breaks, he brings the heroes down with him.





	picking up the puzzle pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

“What...” Tsukauchi said, and swallowed before continuing. “What the hell happened here?” 

  


Tsukauchi felt faraway in that moment, like he was looking into the gruesome scene from outside of his own body. His face paled and his expression dropped, an intense feeling of dread settling deep in his chest. The sharp tang of decay sullied the air he breathed, and Tsukauchi coughed at the stench.

  


The only way he could describe it was as a game, almost. A cruel, sick game. 

  


A body laid limp in a metal chair — a young boy, barely out of middle school, probably — head tipped back and body creepily still, a mess of blood almost covering his entire head. The poor boy’s scalp was peeled back like a bloody orange peel, exposing the bare skull underneath with thick metal hooks embedded into the arced skin, supporting the strip of scalp in a stretched position; like the process was stopped halfway through. Like the hooks wanted to keep pulling.

  


What Tsukauchi presumed was the boy’s quirk was attached to the limp scalp, large purple balls sticking out of it like hair.  _ So much lost potential,  _ Tsukauchi thought numbly. 

  


Thinking about how a _child _was tortured in such a way, how the poor boy’s family would inevitably react, made bile bubble up in his throat, a fierce determination to catch whoever did this rising with it.

  


Mineta Minoru, the case file identified. A U.A. student that had only just passed the exams. 

  


Mineta’s face was frozen into a state of perpetual shock and agony, jaw slack and eyes rolled back into the kind of expression Tsukauchi saw in his nightmares. 

  


Tsukauchi wanted to look away, yet he couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the grisly scene. 

  


The boy’s head was a horrific mess of torn flesh and blood, but it didn’t compare to his hands. At least the face was recognizable. The second part of the... contraption was bolted to the ground, a pair of innocent-looking metal boxes with their covers flipped open, though the metal was barely visible past the blood. The only thing connecting the two were thin metal rods and wires looping around the chair. The dangerous part lied in the spikes attached to the bottom of the flipped-open cover, still dripping with blood and muscle. 

  


Mineta’s hands themselves were unrecognizable, crushed into a soup of muscle and sinew under the spikes, chunks of the skin laying haphazardly within the box. Tsukauchi took one long breath, followed by a shaky exhale, and only then could he steel himself, willing the lump from his throat. 

  


As he stepped closer, one small detail became apparent. On Mineta’s right cheek, a chunk of skin had been carved out with surgical precision, in the shape of a jigsaw puzzle piece.  _ Every serial killer has a signature _ , Tsukauchi thought. 

  


There was a picture hanging innocently in front of Mineta, but when Tsukauchi stretched a gloved hand to turn it towards him, he gasped. There, on the picture, had their victim staring at the camera in trepidation and shock, the boy leaned over a girl trapped between him and the ground. Numb, Tsukauchi let the picture hang limply, a sense of disgust and the reveal of yet another layer to this case coating him like a second skin. He shuddered as he turned to the body.

  


He’d seen some bloody things in his career — civilians crushed by rubble into a paste of skin and organs; charred bodies that emanated such a smell that it clung to his clothes for days afterward; unplanned, bloody murders — but nothing so  _ precise _ . Purposeful. Planned out. And maybe it was just him, but the scene looked personal. The way it was carried out was specific and deliberate, catering to Mineta’s quirk; somehow, that was the worst part. Plus, with the picture...

  


It meant that Mineta was the only one meant for this trap, that whoever did this had built that awful machine with only the poor middle schooler in mind. It meant the boy had a stalker. It meant Tsukauchi had a lead. 

  


Tsukauchi didn’t want to find out what was meant to come next. 

  


Another detective came in behind him. 

  


“ _ Jesus Christ _ .” 

  


The detective’s eyes were wide, and Taukauchi could see his hands trembling. 

  


“Who would do such a thing?” The detective said.

  


Tsukauchi’s eyes narrowed, taking in the spectacle for the thousandth time. “Someone dangerous.”

  


—

  


Two days before the local police arrived at the scene, Izuku Midoriya was having a good evening.

  


He was about to put his plans into motion, the first of his traps kept stationary at his first location, hand-picked after strenuous research. It took a while to set up; a combination of factors ultimately deciding where it would take place. 

  


It was the most stressful part of the process, and it was the reason behind several all-nighters. 

  


He walked along the sidewalk, and as he entered the worst parts of town — lined with brothels and shady casinos and small-time gangs —he slipped his mask into place. It was simple; black and only covering the bottom half of his face with skin-tight, durable material resembling a large medical mask, the only thing significant about it being the round, red circles painted on either plastic cheek, resembling a porcelain doll. 

  


The pavement below him was cracked and in obvious disarray, and several of the buildings around him lacked windows; covered by sheets and blinders. The homeless population was high, to the point where he couldn’t tell whether people were lounging on the sidewalk or didn’t have a home to go back to. 

  


His first target was a small-time hero, insignificant enough to keep her disappearance unnoticed, yet still capable of roughing up the waters. 

  


Izuku had taken  _ months  _ of intricate planning and clever engineering, that a giddy happiness almost had him vibrating where he stood. He’s been waiting for so long, all he could think about all day was his plans coming to fruition. 

  


Sure, she was a hero. A fresh graduate of Shiketsu High and from what he’s seen, so much potential to work with, yet it was blatantly ignored. 

  


Izuku despised that. 

  


Through his research, he had unearthed several less-than-flattering photos of the hero’s true ambitions; dealings under the table to further her own support, accepting bribes from villains, the whole nine yards. It made him sick to see potential wasted, the bubble of hatred in his throat strengthening with each article he read. To see these  _ heroes  _ taking their fortunate lives and tossing it away like trash, hurting instead of helping, taking advantage of the admiring fans that kiss the ground they walk on. 

  


It’s disgusting. And... a small piece inside him rejoices at the fact they’ll be ‘reduced’ to his level when in his traps, Quirkless and helpless, too reliant on their quirks to think they can accomplish anything without them. He just needed to show them what they’ve done wrong, make it a point that  _ he will be watching _ , and then, if they have the strength to survive, they will go out into the world a better hero. 

  


It was the only way, in his opinion. Even if it was through... rather violent means. 

  


He had to walk through the rough parts of town to get to the hero — Locke, the Hair Hero — and no one spared a second glance in his direction. There was an odd attitude about these parts, and some eyed him warily, others with curiosity and most ignored him altogether.

  


Either way, he didn’t exactly care. He had one task; get to the other, more desolate side of town without being noticed. So far, he was succeeding. 

  


The small groups and lone stragglers Izuku would see while he walked slowly trickle to a single person around every twenty minutes, and he felt his shoulders relax. His defenses weren’t quite lowered, but without the insufferable presence of other people the nervous buzz in his stomach was nonexistent.

  


His eyes flickered to every movement, pulling at his hoodie to cover his face even more thoroughly. He stayed within the shadows, moving silently and carefully. 

  


_ Just one more mile _ . 

  


His heart beat fast and hard against his ribs, and his wide eyes glowed in the darkness. Anticipation rose inside him, and Izuku moved quicker. 

  


_ So close _ . 

  


A shrill shriek broke the silence. 

  


That... wasn’t right. He wasn’t even there yet. Either way, it could pose some problems. The last thing he needed were witnesses. Annoyance built, his smile dipping into a frown. 

  


_ Might as well put a stop to whatever’s going on, before it ruins everything _ , he thought. 

  


Izuku stuck himself to the wall, and quickly figured out where the sound was coming from. 

  


Izuku stood at the mouth of the alley, unable to see past the thick darkness from his spot at the sidewalk, his heart beat fast as ever yet he felt completely calm. He made sure his mask was in place, and began creeping into the dark stretch of alley. He kept a tight hold on his knife all the while.

  


His breaths came in short puffs of fog as it filtered through his mask, and he turned corner after corner, his path lit by few and far-between street lights whenever he passed the backs of run-down businesses, anticipation growing by the second. He was getting closer, he could tell. 

  


Another minute passed. And then, just as he was beginning to consider turning back — he was wasting too much time, anyhow — he finally heard a few, quiet whimpers coming from around the next corner. 

  


Izuku froze. 

  


The sounds of crying were still audible, but he noticed a quiet whispering as well, barely heard over the louder whimpers. After what felt like hours, Izuku peered around the mysterious corner. 

  


Lit by one of the street lights, Izuku watched as a short boy — his quirk, he assumed, was the purple balls that stood in for his hair — leaned over a young girl his age, a horrifying visage. Izuku’s eyes widened, shock paralyzing him as he stared at the two people illuminated by the rare light. 

  


The girl was oddly suspended —  _ levitation? Does he have two quirks? —  _ stuck to the ground while her body visibly shook in terror. One of the purple balls from the boy’s hair covered her mouth, preventing her from screaming like she very obviously wanted to do. 

  


He could hear the boy’s whispering.

  


“I can’t believe I got into U.A... I’ve been planning it for so long that it doesn’t even feel real,” he said, but there was a manic lilt to his voice, like he was explaining his actions to himself rather than the poor girl.  _ U.A?  _ “I gotta congratulate myself somehow, y’know? Oh, I can’t wait... is it your first time, too? I always knew it’d be special.”

  


“I finally get to see a girl's boobs  _ for real _ ! I can touch them, see them, feel them... don’t worry, though, I’ll make you feel good too,” he continued. 

  


_ Holy shit _ . Izuku felt like puking, the words coming out of the boy’s mouth were horrific, and to think this boy was becoming a hero...

  


Izuku couldn’t let this just continue, he knew. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

  


Hm. His quirk was on his head. The purple balls...

  


Convenient. 

  


Mind made up, Izuku grasped the Polaroid camera hanging at his neck, sheathing his knife, and raised it to his face. He lined the picture up, taking care to make sure the boy’s face was in full view. 

  


Izuku snapped the picture, the bright flash making both figures freeze. The teenage girl began thrashing with a new vigor, her covered mouth that had previously only let out whimpers began muffled yelling that Izuku could hear if he was even a mile away.

  


“Wha— who are you?!” The boy shrieked. He looked panicked, his wide eyes frantically looking between Izuku and the girl. His face was stark white. “You aren’t supposed to be here!” 

  


“Too bad,” Izuku replied flatly. He knew no mercy for such disgusting people -- such an appalling  _ hero _ . His lip curled, hidden under the mask. 

  


“It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He says. “I’m—I’m a hero-in-training, you see—“

  


Izuku snorted. “A pretty pathetic one, if you ask me.” All humor dropped from his voice, and he glared down at the boy, who immediately paled even further. The same anger that bubbled furiously in his chest as he stared at those articles flared up violently at the scene before him. “What kind of hero tries to rape a girl?” 

  


“I wasn’t  _ raping  _ her!” He yelled. “I... I was—“ 

  


“Whatever.” 

  


The boy didn’t even have time to panic further before Izuku shot forward, in the boy’s personal space in seconds, slapping away the hand that had shot to his hair.  _ They were detachable, then _ , Izuku thought as he rounded behind the boy — who was surprisingly slow for a hero-in-training — and got him into a choke hold.

  


One of Izuku’s hands covered his nose and mouth while the elbow of his other arm pressed roughly against his throat, cutting off all air. Grim satisfaction curled inside Izuku as the boy struggled and slowly went limp, drifting into unconsciousness. Izuku held it for a bit longer to ensure he was out. 

  


“Disgusting,” Izuku remarked as he stood, letting the unconscious body of the boy his age flop to the cold, dirty alley floor below them unceremoniously. 

  


Izuku flinched as another whimper broke out of the girl stuck to the floor below him. He forgot she was there, in all honesty. Izuku frowned, the balls of the boy’s quirk would wear off eventually — he tried to ignore his curiosity about the disgusting boy’s quirk as thoughts of it bounced off the walls of his mind — which would leave him with a witness.

  


She would inevitably go to the police. 

  


Izuku sighed in defeat as he walked over to the poor girl and kneeled beside her head. Tears streamed down her pretty face, eyes begging him to help her. From this close, she got a good look at his face.

  


“Shh, it’s okay, you’re alright,” he cooed, shushing her cries. Gradually, her body started to relax. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  


Quick as a viper, Izuku unsheathed his knife and dragged it across her throat, slashing her jugular veins without hesitation. 

  


Her eyes went wide, and the whimpering and screaming that would’ve been there was quietened as she choked on her own blood, the purple ball of the boy’s quirk stopping any of it going past her lips. Blood splashed over Izuku’s black boots. 

  


Izuku held her eye contact as she died, blood spurting and puddling onto the concrete below her. He continued whispering reassurances, because even if she had to die, it didn’t have to be a cold murder, either. 

  


The tension in her body fizzled out as a girl became a corpse, her body paling further into the pallid shade of death. 

  


“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispered, standing. “I’ll come back for you later.”

  


He couldn’t risk detaching the purple balls without chancing him getting stuck to the ground, or worse, the corpse itself. He did feel sorry about not moving her somewhere else, not only because it risks him, but... it was just disrespectful. The poor girl didn’t ask to be there. 

  


He walked over to the other limp form in the alley and threw the boy over his shoulder, finding him surprisingly light. 

  


With the boy over one shoulder, Izuku darted out of the alley, leaving the corpse behind him to rot.

  


( In the days following, the dark figure of Izuku Midoriya could be seen on a construction site not far from the scene of the murder, any cameras blind to his presence. 

  


He could be seen dunking the entire body of the corpse of a young girl into the freshly-laid, wet concrete, pushing the body deeper and deeper until there was not a strand of hair in sight. He then took the tools he had seen the professionals use, and smoothed the rippling, thick concrete until there wasn’t a hint of disturbance. No one would be the wiser to the grisly murder underneath their feet.

  


Izuku Midoriya could be seen, but he would do anything to prevent witnesses.)

  


——

  


  


Mineta Minoru peeled his eyes open. 

  


The memories of the past hour —  _ days? — _ slammed into him, and Mineta immediately began shaking. Oh, god. Where was he? Where did that mysterious, scary man take him? What did he do to deserve this?

  


Scorching pain rippled across his forehead, and he couldn’t move his neck or rotate his head at all, he realized. He panicked, dread washing through his veins like ice, fear driving itself into his stomach.

  


He was tied to a metal chair, he realized, and upon looking down, Mineta whimpered and screamed at the sight of his hands just below where a set of large, shiny,  _ dangerous  _ spikes were attached to the top of a box, looking as if they’d crash into them at any moment. A set of identical spikes replaced the bottom of the hollow box his hands were inside, and the sharp points promised pain. Mineta whimpered, lip wobbling. 

  


Where was he? 

  


Mineta glanced around his surroundings.

  


A picture, right in front of his face, hung mockingly. It was of himself, looming over that beautiful girl in the alley, staring at the camera in shock in vivid detail. Mineta cried out louder.

  


The picture sparked his memory to life, and Mineta flinched as he remembered the boy he encountered in the alley, threatening and wearing black and had cold, steely green eyes that glowed beneath the light of the alley. A  _ villain _ , oh god. Mineta whimpered in fear, lip trembling, regretting everything he’d done to get himself in this situation. 

  


The concrete walls around him were grimy and eroded, chunks of it spread across the floor, yet none within his reach. There were a few holes dug into the concrete, thin and barely noticeable.  _ Cameras? Someone’s watching?!  _ Mineta struggled, even more horrified. He was gonna end up on those snuff films!

  


He only noticed the old, bulky television in front of him when it flickered to life, and Mineta began trembling. There, on the screen, a large puppet — a doll? — sat there, with coarse black hair, with red eyes and a black sclera, which was horrifying enough, but the most noticeable aspect were the red swirls painted on each pronounced, fake cheek.

  


Mineta remembered the boy’s mask, and how bright red circles were painted on each cheek, not different from the puppet in front of him. 

  


The quality was horrible, the pixels resembling the tv programs his grandmother watched. 

  


Tears poured down Mineta’s face.

  


“Where am I?!” He shouted at the screen. “What are you going to do to me?!”

  


The puppet didn’t answer. Mineta sobbed harder, the cries tearing through his throat. 

  


A deep voice broke the puppet’s silence, and it’s mouth moved, and Mineta wondered if there was a face behind that puppet. 

  


“Hello, Mineta Minoru. I want to play a game.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure you guys have noticed a few changes around here! So, lemme explain:
> 
> 1\. I'm restarting this fic. The response was wonderful from you guys and I love you all, but I just personally wasn't very satisfied with how the story was going, so I re-vamped the story and brought this out for you guys. I'm MUCH more satisfied with the writing and characterization, but I'm sorry this took so long. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> 2\. Off of the last point, don't worry, I didn't make ginormous changes to the plot or anything. This story is still gonna go how I originally planned it to, just in a way that's more agreeable with me. 
> 
> 3\. I currently do not have a beta reader, so if you see a mistake somewhere or just want to critique me please let me know!!
> 
> Next chapter:
> 
> "You have sixty seconds to decide. Choose wisely."
> 
> \--
> 
> She failed him. She was the last straw, the reason he began all of this.
> 
> But he couldn't regret it, even if he wanted to. That was the beauty of his new mentality.
> 
> \--
> 
> "Oi, nerd. The hell's been up with you, lately?"


End file.
